Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst
by Rimbaud's ghostThe Rebel
Summary: What if Mark was a fully fleshed out character? Angsty season 7 goth boy love to the tune of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Shoplifting, make-up lessons, Joy Division, and more. Mark/Ronny.
1. Default Chapter

Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst  
  
By Rimbaud's Ghost May 2003  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Mark or Ronny, and if I did, oh the things that would have happened on this show. But I use them humbly and thankfully. And plan on returning them to their rightful owner in, uh, near mint condition. Author's Note: Am I the only one who thinks goth!mark had a lot of unrealized potential for angst and queer romance? I wanted a little bit of a back story for Mark's whole goth transformation in season 7. I apologize for excessive use of my artistic license, its just that.well you know. I reference earlier seasons of Home Improvement for the Santa Claus bit, the flying bit, and the karate bit. And the story has a lot to do with Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, which I suggest you read. This story is 100% goth- positive and gay-positive, and if that's not your thing, please press the little button at the top of the page labeled "back" and don't bug me. That said, get ready for some angsty literary slash. Watch as High Culture meets TV Culture meets DIY SlashyFic culture. Spectacular! Rated pg-13 for dark themes and cursing. R&R please.  
  
Santa Claus is Dead.  
  
"Santa is fucking dead," Mark whispered staring at the dark ceiling above his bed. There is no Santa Claus, and there is no Easter bunny, and there is no happy ending for me. Mark swallowed, his saliva rotten with brilliant comebacks never thought of in time. His fists clenched, with all the punches he knew he could throw at Brad and Randy, but was afraid to.  
***  
  
Mark has dreamt of flying every night for years now. He used to dream that he was in a sleek silver jet, heroically cutting through powdery clouds above a shimmering ocean. Now it is perpetually twilight, the clouds are gnarled and ephemeral, and the plane is in a nosedive. The rush was still incredible. And then he sinks, numb from the wind, into the forgiving infinity of the Atlantic Ocean.  
***  
And it isn't that he hates his family. He needs them and wants their affection so much it hurts. But all the pranks, and all the jokes, and the way their lives proceed as if he didn't exist. Mark thinks maybe it's a joke to them. I'm their comic relief, the joke that isn't funny anymore.  
  
And it's worse at school, Mark remembered, helplessly, as he pulls on a dark jacket over his black shirt and jeans.  
***  
"I trust everyone has finished reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein?" Mark's teacher, Mrs. Butler said, raising a finely shaped eyebrow. "This story is a horror story of course, but can anyone explain to me what the nature of the macabre element is?"  
A blond girl with ribbons in her hair raises her hand, "Well, I mean, the monster is like really ugly and goes around killing people, like in the movies, right?"  
"No," a burly boy in a school hoodie immediately answered "It is about a science experiment that goes wrong!"  
Mark stared intently at the cover of his tattered copy of Frankenstein, ignoring the laughter and inane comments flying around the room. He had stayed up late last night rereading the novel under his blankets with a flashlight. The first time he had read Frankenstein he had felt sick, but this time it was comforting. He wasn't sure why, exactly.  
"Ronny, am I to believe you're hand is actually raised? Is this an indication that you will deign to grace us with your insights about Shelley's masterpiece? Or perhaps you would like to go to the bathroom?" Mrs. Butler crossed her arms and looked intently at the usually quiet spiky haired boy sitting in the back of the class with his had raised.  
"The Creature is grotesque because he embodies the part of us that most of humanity never wants to confront. He is hideous, and he is incapable of loving or being loved," Ronny said quietly, his face and voice betraying no emotion.  
Mark held his breath, and stared at the Goth. Their eyes met for a whisper of a second before Mark quickly looked back down at his desk.  
The class remained quiet for a moment before snickers and whispers erupted.  
"Class, I think this has shown us that." Mrs. Butler started, but was interrupted by the bell.  
*** "What is the deal with you wearing nothing but black clothes lately? Jill rummaged through Mark's suitcase. "I like black."  
"He's trying to create an image for himself," Randy said, "You know, bleak and desperate. It's working,"  
*** 


	2. You’re not a kid, you’re a vampire

Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst  
  
You're not a kid, you're a vampire  
  
"Class, I would like you to each choose a partner," Mrs. Butler addressed her English class, "and work this weekend on a creative project about the novel we have been reading, Frankenstein."  
Mark inwardly groaned, he hated group work, and partnering up was always so awkward and humiliating.  
"We might as well be in fucking gym class," a low voice intoned over Marks left shoulder a few minutes later.  
Mark's body stiffened and he turned around to see Ronny's heavily lined eyes looking up at him. Ronny flashed a small smile, which would seem to resemble a grimace, except for the genuine camaraderie in his eyes.  
Mark's face warmed up, and he gave an appreciative smirk.  
Ronny shoved a crumpled piece of notebook paper into Mark's palm. Mark noticed that Ronny's hand was cold and his nails were covered with chipped black nail polish. "My address, come over Saturday afternoon."  
  
***  
Ronny lived in a run down house right outside of town. The paint on the fence was peeling and someone had stuck brightly colored fake flowers into the dirt at the foot of the building. Most of the plastic petals and leaves were covered in dirt and cobwebs. A smiling woman wearing a gingham apron opened the door for Mark, and ushered him in into the dark interior of the house muttering something brightly in Spanish.  
Ronny immediately appeared in front of them. He was wearing a black shirt with an "A" with a circle around it painted in white paint across the front and a dog collar. The woman clucked disapprovingly, and sashayed back into the other room. Ronny stared intently at Mark for a moment before turning around and walking into a room at the end of the hall. Mark stood for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. He swallowed quietly, and then followed Ronny to his room.  
The walls were painted black, and all that was remarkable in the room was a large bookshelf, a bass guitar, and a record player. The bed was perfectly made and his desk looked as if it was never used. Ronny sat stiffly at the edge of the bed as Mark looked around.  
"Wow," Mark breathed, "this is great. My parents would never let me paint my room like this."  
"My mom doesn't really give a shit about what I do."  
Ronny's reply was matter-of-fact and his black-lined eyes were unfocused and gave no indication of pain or elation.  
Mark stood awkwardly in front of him, "So, umm, I really liked what you said in class the other day. I read the book a couple of times, and the first time it made me feel..sick. I couldn't read it without feeling disgust. But I read it again, and I could almost take comfort in that. I could understand why the Creature did what he did," Mark paused, and walked across the room. With his back to Ronny, he continued, "I still felt repulsed by it though, by my life. But at the same time." Mark faltered and turned around. Ronny looked at him carefully before saying simply,  
"I know."  
Mark let the words sink in, and then nodded solemnly.  
  
***  
  
They decided to make a script for a movie which would be an allegory to the plight of Frankenstein's monster. The film would be about the death of a suburban family at the hands of their misunderstood son. At the hands of their own creation.  
By dinnertime they still hadn't finished. Mark phoned home and got permission to stay over as long as he didn't stay up to late. Jill added that she was very happy that he had a new friend. Mark rolled his eyes, muttered "yeah, okay, bye..." and hung up the phone.  
Ronny's mother was no where to be found, so the boys warmed up some pizza and brought it back into his room. Ronny walked over to the portable record player on his floor, and put on a record. "This is Joy Division, Unknown Pleasures."  
As Ian Curtis sang mournfully in the background, they began to talk. Mark told Ronny how his parents didn't know he existed, how his brothers were so cruel to him. He told him that they only thing he ever wanted to do was to learn how to fly, and how Jill refused him. How he never felt like he would belong. How he wasn't sure if he wanted to anymore. Ronny told Mark how he didn't have a father, and how his mother didn't understand him, about how they didn't have money for anything. He told him about getting beat up in school and called a fag and a sissy. How he wouldn't let himself be hurt by it anymore. How he wasn't sure if there was anything left to hurt.  
The sparse guitar and drums died out and the record shut off automatically. Pizza crusts and paper plates were scattered around the floor. It was silent.  
"Ronny, stand up, I want to teach you some stuff." Mark spent the next two hours teaching basic self defense and karate. Ronny picked up quickly. Mark held Ronny's wrists behind his back to give him the chance to try out one of the new moves. Ronny's wrists were so solid and cold, but Mark could feel the veins, he could hear Ronny's heart pounding from the activity. Feel the warmth of Ronny's body against his arms. He was so still, yet so alive. His heart, his blood, was a secret that only Mark knew. Then Ronny's arms swung up quickly, catching Mark off guard, and successfully breaking Mark's grasp.  
Mark's voice shook "perfect."  
"Thanks," Ronny said, "let me know if there is ever anything I could help you with."  
  
***  
  
They finished the script at 1 am. Ronny handed Mark a black sleeping bag, which Mark unrolled at the foot of the bed. As Mark lay staring up at the glowing stars on Ronny's black ceiling, he whispered "Ronny?"  
"Yeah."  
"There is something you can help me with."  
"."  
"Show me how to be like you." 


	3. Shoplifters of the World, Unite

Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst  
  
Shoplifters of the World, Unite  
  
***  
  
The next day Ronny was waiting for Mark in front of the school.  
"Come on," he muttered, and started walking away from the school gates.  
Mark was unsure of what to do. Missing class meant trouble and phone calls home.  
"Don't worry, I took care of it," Ronny added.  
They walked for half a mile to the drugstore in town. They walked in and headed towards the back of the store.  
"The make-up aisle?" Mark asked.  
"Yeah, do exactly what I tell you to."  
Ronny picked up a bottle of black enamel, looked around casually, and let it fall into the depths of the sleeve of his coat.  
"Your turn," Ronny said, pointing to some lipstick.  
Mark furtively pocketed a tube of black lipstick.  
"Come on," Ronny said, covertly grabbing an eye linear pencil on his way out of the aisle.  
"M'am," Ronny said defiantly, placing a package of gum on the check out counter."  
"Will this be all boys?"  
Mark looked at her nervously, and began to open his mouth before being cut off,  
"Yes, thank you," Ronny expertly finished.  
As soon as the left the store, Mark started laughing hysterically. He was nervous.and thrilled. Ronny handed him a pieces of chocolate, he had ostensibly absconded with, and grinned crookedly at Mark.  
  
***  
  
They were back at school twenty minutes before the first bell.  
"We don't have time for nail polish, but you can figure that out yourself," Ronny said, putting his hand on Mark's shoulder and leading him towards the boy's room.  
Ronny chose, from the row of mirrors, the one furthest from the door. He stood behind Mark, and they both stared at their reflections. Mark was slightly taller than Ronny, and was blushing from his first shoplifting experience. His face was scrubbed clean and his hair stood awkwardly on top of his head. Above his shoulder, Mark could see Ronny's intense eyes staring up at the Mark's reflection through his furrowed eyebrows. His hair stood up, perfectly controlled and in defiance.  
"Face me," he said to Mark as he uncapped the eye linear. "It going to feel strange, but trust me," he paused, "I won't hurt you."  
Ronny held the black eye linear carefully, and traced the subtle curves of Marks closed eyelid. He could tell Mark was having trouble controlling his breath. Mark's lips were trembling.  
"Now they can't see you," Ronny said breathing softly over Mark's face, "you have your mask, your war paint. Your eyes, your vision, your soul, are your own."  
Mark nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Ronny had worked with so much care, so lovingly, so protectively. The pencil had lingered over each crevice, it had moved deftly, teasing the corners of his eyes. Ronny's breath tasted like cigarettes and strawberries.  
"Don't open your eyes yet. I want to do your lips first."  
Mark stiffened. He heard Ronny rummaging through his coat, then with a click uncapping the lipstick. His heart was racing; he could feel the blood pumping desperately through his body, down.  
The lipstick was cold and sticky. Ronny pressed it from the center of Marks thin upper lip, to the side, drawing Marks lips into a grimace. The other side. Mark's lips were slightly parted and Ronny could hear him breathing hard. Ronny's hand was shaking. He forced himself to be still, and then shaped Mark's lower lips into a pout.  
"Black is the color of truth, naked and ugly. Now your words are your own, but like Cassandra, we are cursed with the ability to see and speak the truth, but will never be believed or taken seriously."  
Mark opened his eyes slowly, his face flushed and warm, tingling where Ronny's fingers had brushed against his skin. They both heard their own hearts beating as they stared at each other, dumbfounded. Mark felt as if he was being pulled by a magnet towards the other boy's face. They stared at each other through black lined eyes. Ronny felt himself drawn towards Marks face, tasting his wet breath. They were each other's only friends, only protectors. The world became suddenly silent, as they reached in towards one another, before the ringing of the bell erupted into the room. Ronny gave a start, straightening out and away from Mark. He opened his eyes wide, vulnerable, and then ran out of the room. Mark collapsed onto the sink, breathing out like he had been punched in the stomach. He inhaled deeply, and then steadied himself, and looked at the mirror. With a start he realized that he was now protected. He felt like a raging storm on the inside, but his eyes gave nothing away, his lips gave nothing away, he stared at the mirror darkly with a defiant black-lipped smile.  
  
*** 


	4. Sex, drugs, and dreary 80’s goth music

Santa Claus is Dead, and assorted Teen Angst  
  
Sex, drugs, and dreary 80's goth music  
  
***  
  
He had never gotten so much attention. Everyone turned and stared at him in the hallway. He could hear their whispers and giggling, but it didn't affect him. It was as if he couldn't see them, as if it didn't matter. As if all that mattered was the secret pounding inside of him, and only one other soul would ever know.  
  
***  
  
Ronny was no where to be found the rest of the day. In his absence, Mark felt only numbness. He wasn't part of their world anymore. The pain was gone, but he had never felt so monstrously out of place. To them he was hideous, incapable of love or being loved. But he had felt Ronny's heart, he had felt his blood, he knew that even if neither of them were the kind of people who got happy endings, that at least they could be in exile together.  
  
***  
  
As soon as the bell rang, Mark ran to Ronny's house. He could hear taunts behind him, and could anticipate the trouble with his parents that would lie ahead of him, but all that mattered now was to see Ronny. The rusty door was loose, and banged back and forth in the wind that always prophesized a coming storm. The air was charged with electricity; Mark could feel it run through him as he stopped to catch his breath. He walked into the house quietly, and headed straight to Ronny's door. He could hear a sad voice singing lullaby's on the record player. As soon as his hand was on the knob, he was overcome with reality. What was he doing? Why did a boy make him feel like this? He opened his eyes wide, but before he could turn away, he caught his reflection in the metal knob. Pursed black lips, and Frankenstein eyes, cold and sure, looked up at him. This was where he needed to be.  
  
***  
  
Ronny's room was dark, lit only be a few flickering candles on his desk. Mark heard the first crack of thunder outside, and then rain began to fall. It fell like it was enraptured with gravity. The sky fell to the earths embrace outside in the purple sky. Ronny sat at the head of his bed, his back against the wall, and his knees hugged up to his chest. His dark skin looked sallow and his eyes looked desperate and scared. Dried eyeliner tears covered his cheeks and his lips were raw and red. He looked at Mark, the perfect image of beauty and control. Mark stood for a moment, seeing only the way Ronny looked like a fallen angel in purple glow of the storm, the way the candles briefly, teasingly, lit up his face. Mark closed the door behind him, and walked to the foot of the bed. He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, and pushed back his hair. "Ronny.  
  
"I'm sorry." "." "You make me feel alive, you scare me." Mark lifted his head, and looked at the boy who had just spoken such words, with out guile, with complete trust. The boy who never said anything had spoken truth to him. The were monsters, Mark and Ronny. Demented muses, evil angels. Ronny let go of his knees, and moved towards Mark. Lightening lit up the room, Ronny's face was a picture of openness, and Mark's was still and assured. The rain poured down, beating into the dry ground, filling up every crevice. Mark breathed in the sweet air the Ronny exhaled as he leaned into Mark's mouth. Mark felt Ronny's lip's nudge his own open. Ronny kissed him fiercely, pressing his swollen lips hard against Mark's black lips. The universe was quiet, and there was only the devastating loss and the earth shattering joy that passed between their mouths as they breathed in and out of each other. The kiss healing their insides, filling the most grotesque hidden hatreds and grudges with the perfection of a single moment where they were not just lonely misfits. They were monsters, and they were strong and beautiful. 


End file.
